


Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth

by Marguerite Muguet (margueritem)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margueritem/pseuds/Marguerite%20Muguet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the name of interplanetary trade, Sheppard, McKay, Ford and Teyla have to cook. Warning: Disasters ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seiyaharris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiyaharris/gifts).



> Originally written for sga_santa (2005) on livejournal. Recipient: seiyaharris
> 
> Betaed by fledge. Any remaining errors are mine.

The most exciting and most frustrating parts of Rodney's days were the testing of unknown Ancient devices.

Exciting, for who knew what they would discover? Frustrating because on a mediocre day, all they discovered was junk, junk and hey, more junk.

On a bad day, they found functioning or malfunctioning devices that endangered Rodney (and other scientists, but less important ones), who hated having to be rescued from toaster-like implements of doom.

Hopefully the device on which he worked now wouldn't prove dangerous. Of course, right at that moment it didn't do much of anything. Rodney sighed and hit his earpiece, saying, "Major, you're needed at lab number 3."

He tinkered with the device, thinking "on" all the while, but he finally gave up and sat there drinking tepid coffee made five hours ago.

"Rodney, we've talked about this." Sheppard's voice was so close - and exasperated - that Rodney chocked on his luke-warm coffee.

When his cough abated, Rodney noticed that Sheppard wasn't decently dressed. He had on gray sweatpants, riding low on his thighs, a well worn t-shirt, and if possible, his hair was even more mussed than usual, with one side plastered to his head. "This isn't really the time to be taking a nap, Major," Rodney said, his voice rising slightly, but he thought he covered his totally inappropriate desire to mouth the small piece of skin visible between the shirt and pants.

Sheppard looked partly exasperated and partly amused, and Rodney wondered why - he wasn't the one sleeping in the middle of the eve... When his eyes focused on the watch Sheppard had pushed into his face, Rodney saw it was actually three in the morning.

It explained Sheppard's attire and expression: it wasn't the first time he had been woken up in the middle of the night by this particular scientist.

Still, the Major had come and not stayed in his quarters. Rodney thrust the Ancient device at John and demanded, "Think 'on'."

"We've also talked about *this*."

"Yes, yes, you're not an on/off switch for Ancient technology," replied Rodney, impatient. "But you're better at this than anyone else." Oh, how it hurt to say that. It wasn't true, not matter what Zelenka said. 'Some Ancients device need more than gene with therapy, perhaps?' Rodney had refuted such an hypothesis emphatically, but he still found himself calling for Major Sheppard to test devices.

Sheppard had that expression on his face, that Rodney saw more and more often: a mixture of exasperation, amusement and something else. It reminded Rodney strangely of his ex-girlfriend - blonde, chemist, threatened to poison him when he wouldn't leave work to go out with her - who used to look at him a certain way when she thought he was cute. It usually ended with her kissing him and sex in uncomfortable places. It had been the greatest three weeks of his life.

He didn't think Sheppard looking at him like that would end up with sex, in comfortable or uncomfortable places. It had never happened before. Pity.

"I meant, no playing with Ancient devices when alone in your lab." Sheppard put the device back on the table. "Do I have to remind you of the Toaster of Doom?" They had to come up with better names, but Ford had been present during the incident.

Rodney glared, because the Major had promised never to mention it ever again. "I'm not alone; Zelenka is here." He looked around, but couldn't find him. Sheppard's smirk was too much. "Oh, shut up." He vaguely remembered then, Zelenka murmuring something in Czech, before leaving.

"He's probably gone to bed. Where all genius astrophysicists should be." Sheppard put an arm around Rodney's shoulders and guided him forcibly towards the doors.

Rodney thought of protesting all the way to his quarters, but the warmth of the Major's arm, even through a layer of clothing, distracted him. The plastered and sticking hair also added an adorable air of vunerability.

Sheppard said goodnight at Rodney's door; he met his eyes and didn't immediately leave. They stayed like that for seconds that felt like minutes, before Rodney cleared his throat and said, "Yes, well, goodnight, Major."

As the door closed behind him, Rodney felt inexplicably like a coward.

***

Dr Weir's office had been chosen for its location, its light and how well at ease it put people. Seated with Weir, Teyla could appreciate the setting: it suited the occupant well.

A leader herself, Teyla admired Weir's strength; despite their cultural differences, they understood one another well, the pains and joys of leading.

Teyla presented a shortlist for the expeditions. "Trading with these people will require patience, time and bargaining power," she warned the other woman. She and others of her people had suggested destinations to Dr Weir before, addresses of people with whom it was easy trade, but who had not much to offer beyond grain, meat and dairy products.

"But they're worth it." Elizabeth didn't need Teyla's nod to confirm it.

Teyla remembered the year her people's crops had been decimated by insects, how the heat had reduced the water sources, how scarce the game had been. They hadn't starved, but they had hungered. "If successful, trade with these new people would increase the variety of our diet." She couldn't promise anything, but she understood Weir's apprehensions: a great distances from their home, the struggle of survival through countless dangers, the everyday responsibilities of leading a people...

Elizabeth's smile was strained, for a moment only; she visibly regained her optimistic façade. "Let's get to work, then." She named a team for each destination on the list, and asked Teyla to share her knowledge with each of the teams assigned.

Teyla had requested a particular address for Major Sheppard's team. The Caldorians had many beliefs and rites. She feared thet her team-mates and she would not be able to make this work. However, she was the only Athosian left among the off-world teams and this slim advantage was all they had, she thought.

She left Dr Weir with her numerous tasks. In the following week, she briefed the other teams. Hers was last.

***

A well placed stick and a strong leg and the battle ended.

"Major, we need to discuss a matter of importance." Teyla looked serious from John's position - on his back, the wind knocked out of him by the fall and Teyla's sticks.

John didn't mind ending on his back, or losing to Teyla's fast and hard sticks... Well, okay, he didn't like losing so often; those sticks were hitting his ego until it was black and blue, and curling into a corner, asking for its mommy. "Well, I always enjoy a talk after such invigorating exercise." He used the smile which always charmed the ladies.

Teyla grasped his hand and helped him up. He tried to hide his wince as his muscles protested the movement. Yes, a talk, and the respite it allowed from the sticks, was particularly welcome today.

The respite was brief, for Teyla placed John in position for the cooling down exercises. "We have been assigned to go to the Caldorians' planet and begin trade negotiations with them."

"Yeah. McKay's still claiming he can't be pried away from his important discoveries in the lab, but I have an informant keeping me... Well, informed;" he flashed a smile at Teyla, but she looked at him once again with her polite I'm-pretending-I-find-you-amusing face; "and McKay's finished with the most important phases of his projects. I'll request Dr Weir to schedule our off-world trip for next week." Teyla corrected his stance and pushed him sharply to the left. It hurt briefly, but did relieve the muscles in his back.

"I believe we will need more time to prepare for the mission." Teyla did the splits easily beside John; he winced and hoped she would never try to get him to do that ever again.

He grabbed his towel and sat. "Why?" He admired the curve of Teyla's back, but felt no desire.

"The Caldorians are not people with whom trade is easy; they demand visitors adhere to their rites."

Teyla had learned a lot about Earth culture - well, mainly western culture - and she wouldn't have suggested a people whose values would require Elizabeth to endanger her crew. John did not worry.

"Fine, as long as they don't require anything wacky, it won't be a problem." He couldn't take drugs, lose his virginity or take someone else's virginity, but he figured he could catch a goat and sacrifice it to a deity. He'd read the SGC mission reports: the universe was a strange place and all of those were very plausible.

Teyla breathed deeply, finished her exercises and sat beside him. "No, their rites are not "wacky"; they are merely difficult to uphold. They only trade with whom they consider civilised people."

He offered her water, but she refused. "Okay." They were civilised people. They had technology, didn't fight over women (well, not everyone) and didn't live in trees. This should be easy, right? "Hey, we're highly civilised people."

A fine sheen of sweat covered her bare skin and a fragrant odour rose from her. John thought he should find her attractive and forget about stocky, balding scientists.

"To open trade discussions, visitors must bring dishes they have prepared themselves. The Caldorians will taste these, and judge their quality. If they enjoy the offerings, they will discuss trade possibilities. They confer great importance upon food and how someone prepares it; it is a sign of advanced civilisation to them."

He thought of their food, and had an inkling of Teyla's apprehensions. "I'm guessing just giving them MREs wouldn't do the trick?"

"I am sure your MREs fulfil all a body's nutritional needs, but their taste..." She trailed off; she was unfailingly polite.

The truth was, for most people MREs were an insult to the taste buds. Except if your name happened to be Rodney McKay. And John really had to stop thinking of the other man every five seconds. "Guess we'll have to cook."

Teyla looked skeptical and relieved at the same time. "Do you know how to cook?"

"I can find my way around a kitchen. Of course, that would be an Earth kitchen." Plus, he knew Ford's grandfather had a restaurant: they could probably make something edible among the four of them.

***

Rodney crossed his arms on his chest and said simply, "I'm not cooking." His voice - he was sure - brooked no disagreement. Ford stood near Teyla, a spatula in hand. Rodney thought the Lieutenant was probably more comfortable with C-4 than with kitchen implements.

"You're part of the team; you will participate," replied Sheppard. He got bowls, eggs, sugar off the shelves, and divided them among the four of them.

"Fine, I'll sit over there, with my laptop, far away from any liquids, and taste whatever you prepare." He liked to eat, yes, but not to cook. It took too much time, and usually ended in disaster. "I burn water."

Sheppard looked at him disbelievingly. "Rodney. Grab the whisk and fluff the whites, okay?"

Well, they couldn't complain he hadn't warned them. "As you wish." He grabbed a bowl and some eggs.

He looked around then stared at Sheppard, who was measuring ingredients. "Yes, Rodney?" Really, did the Major have to sound so put upon?

"What's a whisk?" He glared at Ford, who stifled a laugh.

An hour and five averted disasters later, Teyla and Rodney were thrown out of the kitchen with strict orders to come back with cleaning supplies.

Rodney had always found Teyla intimidating: he liked his women highly intelligent and generally not able to outrun him. Teyla with her sculpted body, her expert handling of sticks, her confidence in her interaction with people - Teyla was a woman with whom Rodney shared nothing, except a total inability to find their way around a kitchen. He liked her much more right at that moment.

Before the door closed, they heard, "We're doomed, Sir."

***

The Caldorians' planet had warm weather, but cooly distant people.

They were taken to a big hut outside the city, where they sat, presented their offerings and observed as the Council tasted their food. Ford had suggested they make meringues; John had agreed, thinking one can never go wrong with meringues. Unless of course you have Rodney and Teyla on your team.

Trying not to observe the Council members too intently, John wondered idly why so many worlds in this galaxy had no chairs. They had nice cushions and tents, but had apparently skipped the "chair" part of their social evolution. Granted, not as important as the wheel, but still...

To his left, Rodney had a pinched expression which foreboded loud complaining on the way back to the Gate. From baffling, through irritating, to amusing, Rodney had grown surprisingly on John. Not like fungus: Rodney was more like a prickly cat that had decided it was moving in and you had to rearrange your whole life around its needs; otherwise, you ended up with messes in the kitchen, clawed furniture and puddles on the carpets.

Further away, Teyla sat serenely, but John knew she was as nervous as him. On his right, Ford held his weapon close and met his gaze. With a tilt of his head, the Lieutenant brought John's attention to the table, where some Council members shook their heads, but others nodded.

John leaned closer and put on his most charming smile, the one that even worked on Rodney.

A hushed discussion and the decision fell. "No," said a man with greying hair and a sour expression.

"You may try again," added another Council member.

John kept the smile firmly fixed in place. They were left without ceremony in the hut, and refused entry into the city.

Rodney complained loudly that if they didn't like the meringues, they could have left the rest of them behind.

***

Back in Atlantis, John tracked down Corporal Hausmann, who - John distinctly remembered reading in the man's file - was a chef. Fairness dictated that he shouldn't order the Corporal to bake for him, so John ended up trading valuable goods for an Opéra cake. If the Caldorians didn't like it, well, *they* weren't civilized people.

When he presented the cake in all its sweet and chocolate glory to Teyla and Elizabeth, Teyla looked disappointed in him, and Weir seemed unsure over whether to burst his bubble or not.

"It's an Opéra cake! It has sugar, chocolate and alcohol." He waved the plate under Teyla's nose. "They'll love it." He had sacrificed some precious chocolate bars and time off for this.

If anything, Teyla's disappointed expression was accentuated. "Major, we did not make the cake." He thought he glimpsed an ounce of temptation in Teyla, probably for the cake itself. It was a pretty nice cake. "It wouldn't be right to start our relations with the Caldorians under false pretenses."

Teyla and John turned to Elizabeth for her decision. Her sympathetic expression did not bode well for John's side. "I'm sorry, John. Teyla's right. We have to try as best we can to abide to others' customs."

Well, if that was the case, John wouldn't share the cake with Teyla or Elizabeth. Ignoring Weir's fixed eyes on the cake, John left in search of McKay.

***

In the evening, Rodney found himself at Major Sheppard's door. The other man had promised chocolate and a movie, if Rodney left the lab at a decent hour.

As the door chimed, Rodney refused to think of this as anything even remotely close to a date. It was simply an evening spent in friendly company. Not that Rodney or Sheppard apparently did this with anyone else, apparently. Sometimes the whole team watched movies together, but if there were to be two, those two would inevitably end up being the Major and Rodney.

When the door opened, Rodney briefly registered Sheppard's triumphant expression before he was pulled decisively into the room.

When he saw the Opéra cake on the Major's desk, he completely understood the other man's unrestrained glee. "How did you...?" He stopped, thought about it and added, "No matter, I don't care. Give me a piece!" After the first bite, he moaned without shame and promised that he'd build the other man a Ferris Wheel.

An hour later, half the cake was gone and Rodney could see much runnning in his future to get rid of so many calories. *Before* he wouldn't have bothered, but *before* there hadn't been the need to run for his life so often. He felt so good that he didn't even mind that they were watching Back to the Future.

He turned to Sheppard to thank him for the cake and request another piece. He'd grab it himself, but he was on Sheppard's bed, near the wall, and the other man was nearer to the cake.

He never got a chance to ask for anything: intent on the movie, Sheppard had chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

Rodney couldn't tear his eyes from the chocolate, and his mouth was inexplicably dry. When he noticed Sheppard looking back, he blinked rapidly, cleared his throat and said, "Erm, you have..." He made a vague gesture towards the other's face.

Recklessly, he decided just to brush it off himself, but then Sheppard's tongue peeked out to do the same.

The contact of John's tongue with Rodney's thumb sent shivers from the tip of the digit to his lower back.

Meeting John's eyes, that were coming closer and closer, Rodney's only thought was, 'Mayday, mayday! Crashing and burning imminent!'

At the first touch of lips, Rodney's common sense disappeared in a blaze of hunger and desire.

Hands sought warm flesh under shirts, mouths devoured uncovered skin, and control was pretty much lost until Rodney felt John's moans of release against his chest.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, pushing at John who was doing a convincing imitation of an octopus just then.

He finally got off the bed, away from John's dark eyes and disheveled, oh-so-tempting appearance. He took a deep breath; he was still hard and every movement that took him away from the bed was torture. Someone had to be sensible about this though.

Sprawled on the bed, John's post-coital expression - and damn, Rodney would never be able to forget; the image was burned into his brain - soon changed to one of puzzlement. "Hey, come back."

"No, no. I will resist the siren call! I must be sensible about this." He waved his hands in front of him, as if they could ward off temptation. Still, John lay on the bed... No, not John. Sheppard. Major Sheppard. Yes.

Sheppard frowned before removing his shirt (they hadn't even taken their clothes off!), revealing too much tempting flesh. Rodney tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

Eyes wide, he cried, "No! No! I'm stronger than this!" and he left, ignoring Sheppard's demands to stay. He was doing it for their own good. Yes, he was.

***

John knew McKay was avoiding him, quite unsuccessfully, of course. They saw each other in the mess hall, in meetings, every time John was called to the labs for threat assessments (but really, those were just about giving him a chance to play with the Ancients' devices). Each time Rodney turned and John was there, the latter put on his best friendly expression and stood just a bit too close to the scientist.

McKay looked a bit frazzled around the edges, but he deserved it for running away from their date. John hadn't even been given the chance to show his non-military expertise.

He also took every opportunity in which Rodney and he ended up alone (and were to remain that way for a time) to grab the other man and kiss him senseless. Rodney always protested before and after, but pliant lips and wandering hands never lied.

Soon, John was sure, soon Rodney would crack and kiss him first.

***

After an hour, the kitchen was at least looking better than the last time the team had cooked. Ford took a small hope from that, but he kept an eye on Teyla, as the Major had ordered him. Sheppard himself was keeping a close eye on Dr McKay.

Everyone had been given tasks suited to their personality: Teyla, good with knives, cut tubers; McKay figured out how the Ancient ovens worked; Ford himself prepared the sauce for the next course, and the Major washed the used bowls, plates, utensils, etc.

Ford had suggested they try something other than dessert; maybe the Caldorians liked salt more than sugar.

"Maybe you could add this to the potatoes." Rodney shook a bottle of spices in the Major's face.

They'd asked the Athosians for some of their spices. Charin had told Ford and Teyla specifically which spice went with what kind of food. Teyla had gently pointed out that she knew about them; Charin had simply ignored her, stared Ford in the eyes and asked, 'Will you remember?' 'Yes, ma'am!' he'd answered. He'd hidden his smile at seeing Teyla pout for the first time. Not well enough, however: their next sparring session was vicious.

Going crossed-eye, the Major grabbed the spice and McKay's hand at the same time. McKay took his hand back quickly and blushed. The Major smirked and opened the bottle to smell the spice. "No."

Undeterred, McKay passed the bottle to Teyla and Ford, so they could smell it too. "Why not?" He'd put a whole table between him and Sheppard. How obvious could you get? Ford didn't want to get involved in the Major's and McKay's relationship, but someone really had to point out to the Doctor how obvious he was.

"Maybe because every single one of your suggestions so far has ended with unmitigated disaster?" And by unmitigated disaster, the Major meant food edible only to famished animals, and marines and scientists with no taste buds at all.

Ford quite liked the smell of the spices and tried to remember which food this spice could accompany according to Charin. A pointed look from his superior had him closing the bottle and putting it aside. "McKay likes the results," he couldn't help pointing out. He didn't do it often - the risk of backlash was too great - but sometimes he added fuel to the others' bickering.

McKay took on a wistful expression then. "Yes, I quite liked the purple meat." A testament to the weirdness of the Pegasus galaxy: meat that became purple when cooked. Only his military training had given Ford the strength to put it in his mouth.

The Major grimaced, probably reliving the unforgettable taste of purple meat. "Lieutenant, that genius over there? He likes MREs." When it lookedas though Teyla was about to come to McKay's defense, he told her, "And he likes your food." Teyla continued cutting the tubers with more strength than was necessary, to Ford's eyes.

The sauce ready, Ford put the cut and washed tubers into an oven dish and poured. "Hmmm, I see your point, Sir." He grabbed the grated cheese and added it liberally on top.

"Good, I'm glad we see eye to eye." The Major put the dish into one of the ovens and sighed with relief. Ford tried to relax himself: perhaps they would be successful this time. "Teyla, have you checked the other oven?"

She opened the oven door; she and McKay peered inside. "Major, is it supposed to be black?" Ford tensed once again and stepped out of the way of a panicking Major.

"What? No!" Teyla and Rodney were pushed aside as the Major reached the oven and, incredibly grabbed for the dish inside.

As Ford had feared, their souffle ended up burned, on the floor, along with a hurt Major cursing loudly, a concerned Rodney searching frantically for the first aid kit, and a dejected Teyla leaning against the table.

Ford tried to repress the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside him, but failed miserably.

In all the drama, the tubers ended up pretty burned themselves.

***

Beckett had checked his hands, declared that John would live, and had reapplied cream on the injuries.

All the while, Rodney hovered around and generally worried more than the injuries warranted. He protested loudly when Beckett did nothing more and insisted on putting gauze, lots of it, around John's hands.

John wasn't above taking advantage of a situation; he let himself be guided back to his quarters by an attentive Rodney. He even got red jello out of it, his favourite.

Brushing his teeth was painful, but not impossible. Getting out of his clothes, however, might have proven a challenge if John didn't have the solution on the other side of the door. He left the bathroom to find Rodney sitting at his desk. Under John's smile, Rodney fidgeted and said, "I should," with added hand gestures, "well, you know. Yes, well. Good night."

Before Rodney made it to the door, John pointed out, "I don't think I can get my pants unbuttoned by myself."

The other man turned around, wide eyed, looking at the chair, the bed, the desk, the poster, but never for long at John. "Oh, right. I should help you, with. Ahem. That." He took a deep breath, seemed to grab his courage figuratively in both hands before approaching John, who was standing near the bed.

John smiled brightly and placed his gauze covered hands on Rodney's shoulders, while the other man fumbled and tried to open John's pants.

The gauze prevented John from feeling the texture of Rodney's shirt, the heat through it. But John still remembered it, and they were standing so close. Rodney worked unsuccessfully on the buttons; he drew closer, inch by inch.

The silence of the room was only broken by their breathing and John's small, sharp and repressed gasps, as he savoured the heat of Rodney's hands, the pulling of his pants on sensitive skin.

Rodney groaned in annoyance at the buttons. He raised his head and met John's eyes. He stopped moving, and it seemed, breathing, too.

John imagined what Rodney must be seeing, as he saw his arousal reflected in Rodney's face: the heat on his cheeks, eyes nearly closed, breathing erratic. He barely had time to moan Rodney's name, before hungry lips were on his.

They fell on the bed, all sharp elbows, hard thighs and clothes that frustratingly remained on.

"Ouch," said John sharply when he tried to pull Rodney closer. He protested loudly when Rodney moved away.

His hair stuck up every which way, his shirt creased, and his lips very well kissed, Rodney looked inexplicably slightly annoyed. "What are you doing? Be careful with your hands! Put them over your head and leave them there," he said, before pulling up John's t-shirt to mouth his way from nipple to waistband.

A delicious shiver ran through John's body and no small part of it was due to Rodney being bossy and aggressive.

Giving himself up to Rodney's demanding hands, John hoped this time they would get out of their clothes and that he'd last a bit longer than last time.

But he doubted it.

***

When John's hands had healed, the team went on other missions and had to put aside any further attempts at cooking.

They spent some nights away from the protective walls of Atlantis: in their tent, Rodney and John whispered to each other, discussing future cooking projects or scientific experiments.

On one of these nights, John touched Rodney, simply on the hand, nothing more than holding, and the other man had pulled back and said as softly as he could, "Are you *insane*?!" John had sighed, but later realised that Rodney refused any contact in public - on or off Atlantis - because he lost control too easily.

Once, off-world, without thinking about it, John had brushed off the dirt that had landed on Rodney's head and shoulders and had just kept on touching after most of the dirt was off.

He'd found himself thoroughly kissed and groped for his efforts, against a tree, out of sight from Teyla and Ford, but still. Their team-mates were close by.

From then on, John kept his hands to himself, and on missions, in their tent, he contented himself with listening to Rodney talking or sleeping.

It often lulled him to sleep, and he dreamed of flying and Rodney.

***

Eventually, the team was back, hard at work, in what they now considered *their* kitchen. It had been invaded in their absence: John pulled rank; Teyla twirled her spatula; Rodney threw his best "I need this space for my work or we're all going to die!" speech.

The room had emptied satisfyingly quickly fast. So they'd ended up having to call Elizabeth to order the invaders away. No matter.

Teyla had decided that Rodney needed combat training; to drive this point across, she'd ambushed him many times during the week. Black and blue from such treatment, Rodney had finally agreed to learn hand-to-hand battle. John, Rodney's very own Delilah, had sided with Teyla: in reprisal, Rodney had withheld sex, but really, who was he kidding? He was a man; he'd become used to sex every night. Plus, John had promised massages. He wasn't very good at them; Rodney didn't care.

Rodney was walking and moving carefully, one day following such training. "So, Teyla, how were your people able to trade with the Caldorians?" He was cutting vegetables. He'd protested loudly at being given this task; if he cut his very important fingers or hand it would be Sheppard's fault! John kept an eye on him, but Rodney liked to think that it was not out of any real concern. It just gave them an excuse to stand side by side as John cut the meat.

"Charin's tuttleroot was a great success with the previous council." She was vigorously mixing ingredients, but had to wait every now and then for Ford to come and add salt or pepper to the mix. Teyla and Rodney were forbidden from doing so, after the salty disaster that had been their salad dressing.

Beside Teyla, Ford was cooking rice; it was their third attempt. The first had too much water, the second too little. Some days, Rodney felt like all of them were trapped in the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, in some weird way. He kept that thought to himself.

The meat and vegetables were soon cooked; the rice was perfect. They all sighed with relief.

In a bout of optimism, Rodney thought that perhaps this time it would work.

***

Seated once again before the Council of Caldorians, Teyla carefully observed the members' expressions as they tasted the latest offering. Beside her, Dr McKay shifted nervously. The Major looked relaxed, but she could see at a glance the tension in his hands. Ford had what Teyla had come to identify as his "on duty" expression.

The silence felt heavy as one by one the council members tasted the food and murmured amongst themselves.

Carh'n, the grey haired one who always had a sour expression, shook his head. For'l, who often took the Atlanteans' side, protested loudly against Carh'n's opinion. McKay's 'Oh, you imbeciles!' was fortunately drowned by the argument escalating among the Caldorians.

As the Atlantis team stared, shocked, the tone worsened rapidly: mothers and fathers were soon insulted, impossible sexual positions were mentioned and sanity was doubted.

When plates fell on the floor and fists started flying, Teyla considered it essential to her honour to defend the members on their side and joined the fray. She knew the others would follow her, and she was not disappointed.

Food and limbs were trampled on; plates and glasses were used as weapons; when the dust settled, injuries abounded.

The Atlanteans didn't gain entrance to the city.

***

Weir watched from the control room as Sheppard's team came back. They'd gone three times to the Caldorians' planet, but this was the first time they had come back injured.

She quickly joined them near the Gate and asked, "What happened?" Lieutenant Ford held his chest with one arm and his breathing was short; he was supported by Teyla, whose left eye was becoming an interesting shade of blue and purple.

Major Sheppard supported Rodney, who was complaining loudly about his ankle. "It's broken, I tell you! Broken!" The Major himself looked uninjured - only later would Elizabeth learn about the bruises covering various parts of his body - and just reassured Rodney that his ankle probably wasn't broken.

All four of them were grinning like fools. It was a particularly worrying expression on Teyla. "The Caldorians rejected our application, but have invited us to try again," she was informed.

This was discouraging news; and why *were* they grinning like that?

She let Beckett take the whole team back to the infirmary, and wondered if she really wanted to know what had happened back on the planet. Sometimes, Elizabeth wished she was back in the Middle East, negotiating peace between trigger happy nations.

***

Once the inappropriate grinning stopped, Weir was able to get the full story out of the team. Ford's injuries had been gained while defending Rodney from crazy Caldorians. John charmed a nurse into bringing blue jello to the Lieutenant. To thank Ford, Rodney would have to make him something that went 'boom' spectacularly.

Elizabeth reprimanded them, but Teyla was quick to point out that the Caldorians respected them more, now that they were willing to fight for their honour - that was, in Caldorian terms, an acknowledgement of their culinary aptitude.

Beckett and Weir shared a silent communication, but nothing had shown up on the MRIs, and they had to let the team go: Weir told them all to take some rest for the next few days.

That night John sneaked over to Rodney's room. Well, in fact, he just walked up to it - it wasn't that far from his - and knocked on the door. It served to ease Rodney's paranoid mind to pretend sneaking was involved, however.

Rodney lay on the bed, his injured leg - not broken, as John had known - elevated with some pillows. John quickly joined him and spent long minutes just kissing Rodney and absorbing his heat. Rodney tasted of coffee and power bars, and John thought - in the sappy corner of his mind - this is what earthly heaven tastes like.

Soon, Rodney demanded coffee. He had a stash of Guatemalan coffee beans, which he reserved for special occasions: pretty much every time he was hurt. What he lacked in appreciation of food, he more than made up for in coffee expertise. Rodney had once even offered to share with John, who couldn't help saying, "It must be love!" Rodney had stammered, blushed, but finally said, quietly, "Yes, it must be."

Fortunately for their relationship, John really was more of a tea than a coffee person. He'd thanked Rodney with a nice, long blowjob.

He refused to serve Rodney more coffee now, and distracted him with well placed hands and mouth.

As he traveled downwards, he reflected on how well Rodney and he fit together, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

In his mouth, on his skin, through his moans, John found in Rodney that nothing else mattered: the world could crumble around them, and they'd build it back together.

***

Weir decided to strike the Caldorians off their "possible allies/trade partners" list: she put John's team on other missions, the need for a ZPM becoming more and more pressing.

Other teams failed at finding new trading partners, others were successful. It galled John: he was sure they had been close. Oh, so close. In his few moments of solitude, his thoughts always came back to the Caldorians. He was obsessed, and he knew the others on his team felt the same.

After the expedition had to eat MREs for two days straight, John cracked. He charmed, bargained, begged Weir to let him try one last time to pass the Caldorians' test. She reluctantly agreed. John knew the hardest part was ahead.

"Rodney, give me the coffee beans." Sheppard had adopted a non-threatening pose, but Ford looked ready to lunge and knock out the threat, or in this case, Rodney. He hated to do this, but sacrifices had to be made.

Rodney held tightly onto his pitiful bag, where a few coffee beans still resided. "No, never. I don't care." John moved only to open his arms in a non-threatening manner; Ford adjusted his position, and John was ridiculously proud to see Rodney adjust his in the best way to escape.

"Rodney, we need those beans for the mocha cake." They'd tried sugar, salt, cocoa, spicy: coffee was their only hope.

Looking left, then right, quickly so as not to lose sight of the other two men, Rodney moved back. "It might not work! They might hate your dessert!"

"They *won't*", replied John with great emphasis. At this point, the Caldorians' snobbing had turned personal for him. And maybe Rodney - and a few other marines and scientists - could survive with sanity intact on a regime of MREs, but for the good of Atlantis, John had to save the rest of them from such a fate.

Teyla stepped out behind Rodney and with three swift movements had him immobilised while Ford grabbed the bag. Rodney tried to escape, but he was still no match for Teyla.

Incredibly angry, Rodney said not one word as they all made their way to the kitchens. As each took out the necessary ingredients, bowls and utensils, as though in well-learned choreography, John thought that this would either bond them tighter together or tear them apart.

As the silence lengthened and the tension rose, John fervently hoped that all of this wouldn't explode in his face: Rodney's tightly pressed lips and narrowed eyes spoke loudly of vengeance.

***

The team sat in front of the Council members. Teyla as always looked at ease and composed. McKay glared, arms crossed. The Major had the charm turned way up. Intent on the cake, the members ignored them all. Ford as always could not read them and had to grab hold of his patience with both hands.

One after the other, the members nodded, until it came to Carh'n, the old grizzly. When he nodded, the team exhaled loudly as one.

The doors to the city opened; a trade agreement was soon concluded. It was rather depressing how easy it had been in the end. When the Caldorian members had asked about their weapons, Ford thought they'd probably passed the test because the Caldorians were just as desperate to trade as the Atlanteans. Major Sheppard looked so pleased with himself though that Ford didn't share his observation: no reason to upset the Major needlessly. Ford had never been the kind of kid who pokes at bee's nest.

The Major had obviously been the kind of kid to pick up stray, scruffy looking cats in his arms, no matter how often they scratched and bit. Ford could see it in the way the Major gravitated around McKay, ever closer, until he got stung; he went away, but he always came back for more. Ford rolled his eyes, shook his head, and stayed close to Teyla.

***

After a long day in the labs, Rodney shut himself in his quarters, removed his coat and threw himself on his bed.

Ouch.

Something hard, and definitely not pillow or bed like, was cold against his neck.

Rodney sat up and there, against his pillow, was an unopened, golden wrapped bag of Guatemalan beans.

He knew of only one person who'd leave him such a thing.

Rodney did a little victory dance in his head, hid the beans and went in search of the Major.

The high moral ground might be emotionally satisfying, but Rodney hadn't had sex in a week and the lack of it remarkably resembled caffeine withdrawal. Only worse.

After such a week, Rodney thought he would willingly sacrifice his coffee, if it meant a naked John in his bed.


End file.
